St Valentine's Day Massacre
by Sat-Isis
Summary: An AU of AWE: On Valentine's Anamaria barely escapes death at the hands of Beckett's Black Guards and places herself under the unwilling protection of the newly minted Admiral Norrington. How long can they survive when their agendas clash with Beckett's?
1. Chapter 1

The afternoon was exceedingly hot and Anamaria went to the market earlier than unusual; she knew that the discounts would be steep on the fresh fish about to spoil in the Noon day heat. The errand saved her life.

Anamaria was a creature of thousand faces; today she wore an old blue dress and comfortable set of stays that thrust her tits out just so to make the good Creole men sweat a little more and their good Creole wives bitch.

As she approached the building, the hair on the nape of her neck below her tall tignon began to stand on end. There were blackguards milling about and she could smell the fecal scent of death and gunpowder.

She kept walking; she sidled past the open door, her head bowed down, her sandaled feet peeking beneath her hem with each step and caught in the corner of her eye a bloody body face down in the stairwell. Running out of alley, Anamaria attracted the attention of one of the men in black coats.

Anamaria did not believe in God or the Devil, she did believe in Lady Luck and invoked her name as she went to the last house on the left and tried the door. It was locked.

Hot, cold, the shock of it shot from the nape of her neck, down her spine, to her fingertips and toes before barreling back to its source. Her arm lifted slowly in a trace, as if her fingers were in a dance, and curled a fist as delicate as a night blooming flower recoils in the dawn and brought her knuckles to bear upon the door.

There was no answer. She knocked again and saw herself being wrenched back before she felt it. The man in the black coat had grabbed her arm and as she turned to face him, her face was as shocked as any innocent woman's.

"_Monsieur, retirez votre main de ma personne_!" He did not understand, Anamaria could see it in the crinkle of his face. Determined, she spoke firmly as one would speak to a dog, "_Lâchez-moi_!"

The blackguard did not release her and she screamed in his face, a high-pitched sound that reverberated down the alley and rattled the glass in their frames on the little second story windows. She slapped him in the face with her parcel of fish and the poor dead creatures looked as shocked as he.

"Ye fuckin' black bitch!" he yelled and the knife in his fist gleamed like the scales of a fish as it flashed in the sun towards her belly. The force of the blow slammed her back against the door and she could not breathe. The fish flopped into the dirt.

There was a thundering in her ears and she thought it was her heart as she slid down the solid length of the door. Anamaria tried to suck in a breath and she knew what it was to be a fish out of water.


	2. Chapter 2

The door opened from the inside and she flopped backwards over the threshold, the tip of the broken blade imbedded in the baleen of her stays cast a beam of light into the darkened house.

"Oh my God," it was a voice she knew, Anamaria grasped at his leg with her hand least the man in the black coat should try to drag her away from this place. Her screams had lured more of them from the house down the street.

Stepping over her, standing in front of her, he demanded an answer from the blackguard, "What is the meaning of this?" More men in black coats came from further down the alley, marching towards the commotion like black ants.

"Go back into the house," the man in black with the broken knife said, "this is nary a concern to ye." Anamaria was picking herself up, grasping onto his calves, throwing her arms around them.

"_S'il vous plaît dites que vous me connaissez, s'il vous plaît dites-leur, je travaille pour vous, s'il vous plait_," she begged him in a breathless voice, the air just starting to make its way into her lungs.

His calves tensed, hard as steel beneath the silk and skin. She willed him to understand, though she hoped it was not necessary. Anamaria knew he had some French, but she never knew how much from those nights long past.

"Take yourselves away from my house or I shall call down the law upon your heads," he barked at them like a dog and the one who had stuck her with the knife grinned. "We are the law."

"A bit of trouble, Admiral?" a voice asked off to the side and everyone turned to look at the speaker. No one had seen or heard him approach, but Anamaria could have sworn she had seen him somewhere before.

"Mr. Mercer, these ruffians have attacked my girl and they claim to have the right of law." It was not a question and perhaps the man expected a refutation. Mercer's eyes traveled over Anamaria.

"Your girl," he said, a statement that barely concealed a question. He knew. His eyes did not betray him as they slid across hers, but she felt with the instinct of an animal that he knew.

Mercer flicked his fingers in dismissal and the blackguards fell back. He looked the Admiral full in the face. Between them a battle was brewing. "Your girl?" he asked outright.

"Yes," the Admiral hissed out between his crooked teeth, his lips the only thing moving, the rest of his body was poised, pulled taut like a bowstring. Her sensibility was able to pick up the faint vibrations of that tension.

"Very good," Mercer acknowledged and stepped back. He turned and strode towards the house of corpses and the men in black coats fell in behind him. They plowed through the alley like a wedge and faded back inside.

Anamaria's face collapsed in relief, she released her hold on his long shanks.


	3. Chapter 3

He did not move for a long while and time seemed to stretch out before him before snapping back into place. He bent down to help Anamaria to her feet. He did not let go of her arm.

Neither of them said a word as he lead her through the dark kitchen, out into the courtyard, and up into the main house. Mindful of the blade tip poking out of her stomacher, he kept the pace below that of a march.

Once inside, with the door firmly shut behind them, Anamaria was left in one of the parlors, perhaps the private parlor, while he went about looking out the windows to see if the house was being watch.

Anamaria took the broken knife tip between her fingertips and moved it back and forth, back and forth, until it slid loose from her stays. She held the bit of steel in her palm and examined it, taking note of the internal flaw that had allowed the blade to break.

"Do you need a surgeon?" he asked from the window, closing the curtains again against the worst heat of the sun. Anamaria shook her head and held out her palm to show him the knife tip was not bloody.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, speaking softly but intently. Looking up at him she refused to answer him, "I could ask the same thing of you, James," and she looked him up and down, rediscovering that he was also a creature of more than one face.

"I am asking the questions here," James kept to the subject. Anamaria gutted her chin out at him in defiance and he glowered down at her. "I was buying fish at the market before they spoiled," she finally said.

"You would have me believe that you traveled all the way from Tortuga to Port Royal merely for the market? I had not realized the fish here are superior to those in Tortuga," James snarled.

"At least in Port Royal no butcher will skin a cat and try to pass it off as a rabbit," Anamaria snapped back. James' face hardened: his mouth puckered and dropping into a frown, his eyes narrowed, and he blew a breath out of his nostrils like a horse.

"I have not brought you in to discuss-" he stopped himself and took a deep breath through his nostrils before continuing, "-you need to leave. Why you are here is not a concern of mine, but you need to leave. Instantly."

"They are all dead. Murdered. I cannot return to that house. I cannot leave Port Royal," Anamaria said to him, clenching the blade tip in her fist and closing the space between them. "I am sure you will find a way," James retorted.

"You listen to me good, James Norrington," she shook her fist under his nose, "You opened that door, you told that man I was yours, and now you have to take responsibility. I am entitled to your protection."


	4. Chapter 4

They stood toe to toe, her fist to his nose as he tried to stare her down. Anamaria's dark eyes sparkled with intensity and his resolve melted as a shining pearl of blood slid down her wrist. Sighing in defeat, James whipped out a linen handkerchief from inside his shirt sleeve and went to cradle her fist his in his hand. Frowning, she pulled back from him.

"You are bleeding," he explained as Anamaria blinked in confusion; she had not expected a bit of blood to be just the thing to break him. Her fingers uncurled in his large hand and he plucked the blade tip from her palm. Instantly the blood welled up from the valley of the cut and he pressed his handkerchief against her wound. His linen was ruined.

Closing her fingers back into a loose fist to hold the makeshift bandage in place, he lead her to the sofa with both on his hands encompassing her injured one. James did not let go, but kept gentle pressure on her hand as he resumed a line of questioning he had not wished to pursue mere moments before. It was his responsibility now.

"With things as they are now, I cannot fathom as to what you were doing here," Norrington shook his head in disbelief, "Did you expect to hide in plain sight and carry on your illicit activities?" Anamaria cast her glance about the room and took in its details. She decided to tell all the truth, but to tell it slant.

"We are-were seeking to escape," she looked James full in the eyes, "we had not expected things to turn so quickly or so badly." Anamaria looked about the room and changed the subject, "This place seems new and you seem new to it. How came you to be an Admiral, James? I had not thought the Royal Navy to be so…forgiving."

"I am employed by the EITC and am no longer an officer of His Majesty's Navy," James smiled ruefully, "and you are very good at steering the conversation to your whim, but I shall not let you lead me so easily. You and your crew should not have been here in the first place – not to smuggle rum, at least – you are smarter than that."

"I have heard a rumor that Jack Sparrow is dead. Did you make good on the quest you began those many nights ago in Tortuga?" "Did Jack Sparrow ever make good on his promise to you or are you still without a ship?" James retorted, and smiling toothily said, "You seek to thrill me with such sharp subjects, but I am not dissuaded."

Anamaria removed her hand from his enveloping grasp and replied, "I will believe Jack Sparrow is well and truly dead when rumor has it he is still alive. And, yes, the sonofabitch still owes me a boat." "What have you been smuggling besides rum?" Norrington asked directly. There was a pregnant pause before she answered, "People."


	5. Chapter 5

Norrington could not comprehend what Anamaria had meant, but he was not so dullishy boorish as to enquire if she had taken up theft of black ivory. She watched him; he was unaware of his countenance when his thoughts turned inward. There was something very soft and romantic about his face when he was given to deep thought – a poet would have murdered for such pulchritude.

Anamaria saw the instant his mind alighted on her meaning. Then his face voided itself of any emotion. James returned his mind to the world outside of his own head and fixed his green eyes hard upon her hers. "What dangerous games have you drawn me into?" "None that you have not already begun to play yourself," Anamaria replied.

"_Comparaison n'est pas raison_," James surprised her with his sudden, poorly accented French. "In saving your life I have risked mine twice over. Without my protection you shall surely suffer a similar – or worse – fate. I have no doubt your illicit activities – even should they cease this very moment - will condemn us to the gallows. This is very bad business."

"Cutler Beckett is bad for business," Anamaria countered.

"One could say that Lord Beckett is business - legitimate business – and that he is right in eliminating those without marque or charter," Norrington replied with the austere voice of conventional morality and authority.

"I am naught but another piece of business to Beckett; something to be bartered or sold, an entry in a ledger, and nothing more but good business," Anamaria rebuked him sharply, her brown eyes snapped like roasting coffee beans. Her anger was unnecessary in convincing Norrington: not too long ago his shoe had been on the other foot.

"What happens now?" Norrington asked himself aloud and he leaned back awkwardly against the sofa that was not built to accommodate his frame. James looked askance at Anamaria. "He knows about us. Lord Beckett's man, Mr. Mercer, has no doubt related the entire encounter. We must tread the boards most carefully before them both if we are to survive this."

"Have you any other staff?" She asked.

"No, I have only just taken residence and have not had time to search for servants," he answered.

"You saw me yesterday in the market and quite suddenly you became captivated by the curve of my cheek as I turned my head," Anamaria spun her thread. "You approached me full of contradictions: arrogance that you could have me at the asking and dread that I would publicly refuse you. I said yes." Norrington stared at her, then burst out laughing hysterically.

Anamaria continued to glare at James even after he controlled himself and spun a more conventional web of lies based on half-truths: "Your reputation as a cook proceeded you. Some might say I stole you away from your previous master, but I say you are practically stealing from me! You demanded I pay you twice as much than your previous master could afford. I said yes."


	6. Chapter 6

James alighted on something she had said earlier, "You have been watching me in the market – for how long?" "For as long as you have been here," Anamaria answered. He was not disturbed that she had not made herself known - unwise under any circumstance. James was disconcerted that he had not felt her watching. Too many eyes were watching him; it had dulled his perception instead of making it sharper.

"What happened to the people who own this house?" James asked, dreading the answer he had already inferred. "I do not know," Anamaria replied truthfully. "It was empty when we arrived. I did not know it would be yours when I saw the furniture being brought inside. You did not choose it, did you?" Norrington had the distinct feeling that she did not approve of the furnishings courtesy of Lord Beckett.

"No," James answered, "in truth I have no taste in furniture and merely requested that Lord Beckett find someone to see to it that furnishings were provided. I take it you do not approve?" Anamaria leveled her gaze about the room in serious appraisal, a moue of distaste forming on her face. "It does not suit you, nor does it suit the room. I would have gone in a different direction. Something much less…_yellow_."

"Something feminine?" Norrington queried. "Something French," Anamaria countered. James huffed in derision, "They are one and the same." "Indeed, you have no taste for beautiful things. No, I would have chosen cerulean and white for this room and in daylight it would seem as though one were in the Great Cabin of an elegant vessel: gleaming white wood with ocean and sky a calm blue."

James' heart hurt at the beautiful image her words conjured: the Great Cabin of **The Interceptor **- gone from the waves before her time. He then remembered that for a brief time the sloop had been promised to Anamaria. Norrington had no doubt that she had loved the sleek little ship as much as he had. James smiled ruefully; had things turned out differently he would have hunted her down like a dog to reclaim **The Interceptor**.

"Do you have anything in the larder?" Anamaria asked suddenly. "No, nothing," James said, "I barely have anything of my own here. I have never set up a household before, I did not even think of supplying the larder." "James Norrington, do not be daunted," she said with the faintest note of admonition in her voice, "there are only little differences betwixt supplying a ship and setting up a household."

Norrington was struck with an idea of how he could benefit from having Anamaria under his protection, a promotion was necessary. "I shall leave it to you to set up my larder. Tomorrow you shall have an allowance and a log book. Tonight I will dine out. In the meantime you must have a suitable wardrobe and I have someone in mind. First, let me show you to your quarters, Mistress Housekeeper."


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you mean, 'Housekeeper'?" Anamaria demanded in shock. James had grasped her hand and began to lead her from the room as though he was leading her from danger. The last time they had clasped hands, Anamaria was leading him through the back alley's of Tortuga away from a lurching, drunken mob intent on stringing Norrington up from the rafters.

He did not know his own house the way she knew Tortuga and he stopped dead in a room with no stairs. He turned and paused again, trying to find his way to the back stairs. With a sigh and a scrap of intuition, Anamaria tugged on his hand and lead him to the stairs. James looked sheepish and then took the lead again as he climbed the stairs.

"I need someone I can trust in my own house," James explained as he led her upstairs to the servants quarters in the attic.

"Trust?" she asked archly. "Trust enough," James conceded and then opened a door to a room of middling size. Anamaria crossed the threshold and cast her eyes about the room a faint moue of displeasure marring her brow. James fiddled nervously with the edges of his cuffs.

She spun quickly and demanded, "I shall do as I please, yes?" He was taken aback by her fierceness, not expecting to see it, and agreed immediately. Anamaria's continence melted into a pleased and pleasing smile and she told him, "James Norrington, you have yourself a deal."

* * *

A shadow menaced in the doorway, hidden from the afternoon sun streaming from the windows. Dismissing the undersecretaries with a flick of his wrist, he met the eyes of the shadow man and motioned him forward. A pale face broke the surface of the shadows and the light that splashed on the face illuminated a tense visage.

"You do not look pleased, Mr. Mercer. Tell me, is there something amiss?" the man raised an eyebrow at his clerk. "Norrington is up to something," Mercer replied. "Indeed," said the other man coolly. "He has taken in a Negress; one with ties to Sparrow and the smuggling cabal that has just recently gone out of business."

The man's face twitched at the mention of Sparrow, "How quick Norrington is to bite the hand that feeds him." "Not at all, Sir," Mercer replied as his lord shot him a disgruntled look, "I believe he took her in during a moment of foolish gallantry; the Blackguards are not known for their subtly. He does not know what manner of creature he has taken under his protection."

"Always one to rescue a pretty face. She is pretty, I assume, for a Negress?" "Most would find her so," he said, having no opinion of the matter himself. "Norrington comes tonight. I shall ask him myself, but for the time being I want the both of them watched. Hunt out her past, she may yet be a pawn I can put into play." "As you wish, Lord Beckett," Mercer acquiesced.


End file.
